


One Hundred One Night Stands.

by Sophia_Bee



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Accents, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Charles You Slut, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Fluff, Funny, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mustaches, Ridiculous, Sex, Sunglasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 18:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2632544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Bee/pseuds/Sophia_Bee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has a rule. Never fuck the same guy twice. When he refuses to see Erik again after a one night stand, Erik goes about trying to get Charles to violate that rule using accents and disguises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Hundred One Night Stands.

**Author's Note:**

> just a bit o' silly sexy fluff...

Charles has rules. They are written on a piece of paper ripped from a yellow notepad and stuck on his refrigerator, the title House Rules written in all capital letters across the top and underlined two times, then a third just for good measure.

One. _Don’t drink the milk out of the carton._ Raven violates that one pretty much every morning. Often with a smile as Charles rolls his eyes.

Two. _Pick your fucking clothes up off the bathroom floor._ Again, violated by Raven on a regular basis, also with a smile.

Three. _Do not borrow my clothes_ (aka if you ever borrow my cardigan again in order to dress up like ME for Halloween, I will fucking kill you.) Raven hasn’t broken that one since Charles had to write it on Halloween two years ago.

Four. _Don’t fuck the same guy twice._ Since Raven isn’t involved in that rule, it's the only one that she can’t managed to ruin.

He posts them on the fridge, and Raven adds a fifth.

Five. _Buy your sister very expensive birthday presents because you love her._

And under that Charles has scrawled, _fuck you._ This caused Raven to underline rule five in red which then caused Charles to circle ‘fuck you’ in a coordinating orange AND highlight it.

The man he has brought home from the bar is standing at his fridge staring at the paper, when Charles walks into the kitchen holding the half-empty bottle of vodka.

“Never twice? Really?” he says, sounding amused. Charles immediately regrets offering a drink instead of just kissing his conquest the moment they stumbled through his apartment door. If he’d kissed him, Mr. Tall, Dark and Fuckable wouldn’t have wandered into his kitchen and wouldn’t be staring at his fridge.

“It’s a joke,” Charles says. Sort of. Not entirely. He wrote it there after a particularly bad breakup, yet another time he was sure he was headed to the altar only to crash and burn, and on a night when he and Raven had gotten particularly tipsy and she had dressed him up in a wig and a thrift store dress and they had rolled around the living room floor after smoking a couple joints, and Charles had sworn up and down that from now on he would only do one night stands. Never fuck the same guy twice, he told his sister drunkenly. If you fuck the same guy twice, you fall in love, and if you fall in love, you get your heart broken. Charles was done with his heart being broken.

“So, um…” the man says, looking momentarily confused as he stands in the middle of Charles’ kitchen. Charles laughs a little. He’s forgotten his name, but maybe he never told him his name in the first place. Are names even necessary? He thinks he should just sidle up to Mr. Tall, Dark and Fuckable standing in his kitchen, run a hand down that nice looking dress shirt and murmur, ‘what’s in a name,’ Charles winces. Way too cheesy. Instead he decides to go with the direct approach.

“Charles. My name is Charles.” Charles says smiling, emphasizing the CHARLES, in case the stranger decides to lapse into ‘Charlie’ or heaven forbid, ‘Chuck’. He grabs two glasses from the cupboard and pours some vodka into each one. It’s good vodka, snagged by Raven during their last visit to the mansion. He hands one to the man who takes it, sniffs it then lifts it to his mouth drains it. Charles watches his throat as he swallows and licks his lips.

“So,” the man says, smacking his own lips with satisfaction, “do you want to fuck?”

“Isn’t that why we’re here?” Charles says, tipping back his own glass and feeling the burn of vodka down his throat, the taste clean on his tongue. It is quite good stuff.

“That would be the idea of picking someone up at a bar and bringing them back to your place.” the man says dryly, looking both amused and unamused, and Charles is amazed he can pull off both at the same time.

“Or we could play chess,” Charles says mischieviously. Didn’t you see rule number six? Never checkmate the same guy twice.”

“Ha,” the stranger huffs, followed by, “Fuck you.”

“Yes, you fuck me. That’s how I’d like it to go.”

“This is the strangest one night stand I’ve ever had.” says Tall, Dark and Fuckable, frowning a bit.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Charles chuckles, “...um, well…I don’t know your name but you know mine now…not sure if that’s entirely fair.”

“Erik.” the man says, “My name is Erik.”

“Erik, with the nice ass.” Charles says, grinning.

“Which might be the strangest pick-up line I’ve ever experienced as well.”

“I aim to please.” Charles says, “and it seems to have worked…”

“So, seriously, do you want to fuck.” Erik growls.

“Yes.” Charles answers, smiling.

“Where?”

“Here. In my apartment.”

“How in the world do you get fucked on a regular basis and be such a smart ass at the same time?” Erik says, sounding exasperated, “I mean WHERE in your apartment.”

Charles is now grinning.

“Kitchen table?”

“Too hard. Couch.”

“Italian leather, Erik. Wait, is that where your accent is from? I’ve been trying to place it all night.”

“German. Why in the world would you think I sound Italian? Do you really think I sound Italian? Americans...”

“American and too much vodka?” Charles says impishly. They walk out of the kitchen and into the living room.

“Hello Kitty?” Erik says, looking at the couch then to Charles, his eyebrows raised. Raven’s Hello Kitty throw pillow is on one end, the one Charles forgot to hide before he left to go out for the night. He blushes a little and silently curses his sister. Wait. Maybe he did put it away, which means Raven took it out again, purposely trying to embarrass him. He mentally adds a rule to the list. No Hello Kitty crap in the living room. He’ll make sure to write it up on the fridge later.

“My sister,” Charles explains. “She lives with me. She’s kind of a nut-job.”

“Is she twelve?” Erik says, frowning.

“Twenty five.” Charles answer. “She says she’s quirky. I say she needs medication.”

"I take it you like to read?” Erik asks, apparently done with discussing Charles sister and going to stand in front of the floor to ceiling bookcases stuffed full of actual BOOKS. “Haven’t you heard of a Kindle?”

Charles rolls his eyes. “I’m starting to regret saying ‘let’s go to my place,’ Erik-with-the-not-Italian-accent-and-the-delicious-ass.”

Erik turns to look at Charles, his eyes narrowed.

“You won’t regret it, Charles. I promise."

Charkes swallows hard. "Confident" he notes.

"Yes," Erik says almost dismissively, as if Charle should have no reason to think otherwise, "so, have you decided where we’re going to fuck yet?”

“Bedroom,” Charles says. “I have lube and condoms in my nightstand. More convenient. I’m kind of lazy you know and I don’t really want to have to interrupt our, um, activity to make it all the way to the nightstand to get supplies, and looking at you, I think I’m going to need you nice and lubed up...”

Erik let’s out a strangled sound that stops Charles' stream of conscience verbalizing in mid-ramble.

“Good god, man,” Erik squeaks, and his accent doesn’t sound so sexy at such a high pitch, but it does make Charles laugh, “I’m starting to think I might have to kiss you just to shut you up.”

“I also can’t talk if your cock is in my mouth. That might be an equally pleasing strategy.” Charles counters. Erik is silent, glowering and breathing a little faster. Point taken.

“So…” Erik growls.

“So…” echoes Charles, “are you going to do it?”

“Do what?”

“Kiss me.”

“Yes.”

And Erik does.

Erik with the German-Not-Italian accent and the delicious ass turns out to be just as good of a fuck as Charles suspected. His cock is large and he is entirely enthusiastic about Charles’ ass, and Charles has to add an asterisk onto rule number four.

Four. _Don’t fuck the same guy twice*_

_*unless it’s on the same night._

When they are done and Charles is lying panting, face planted on the cool cotton of his expensive sheets, Erik sprawled across his back, Erik whispers into his ear.

“Are you sure about rule number four. You are quite lovely and I’d like to see you again.”

“Rules are rules.” Charles says. “I have them for a reason.”

“You should change your reasoning.” Erik counters.

“You should call a cab.”

“Fuck you.”

“Again? I’m game.” Charles says, although his cock might disagree. Still, it’s the thought that counts.

“I am not that young, Charles.” Erik huffs.

“I guess I don’t have a rule about how long someone can stay.” Charles says thoughtfully, feeling sluggish and post-coital and wanting a nap before another go. “Maybe we can sleep a little, then I can blow you as a parting gift.”

Erik shrugs and a wolfish smile spreads across his face, “That works.”

Erik leaves in the morning and Charles crosses his fingers that Raven stumbled in late last night, somewhere in between sober and drunk and will be sleeping off her night and won’t witness Erik skulking out, his clothes rumpled, his hair sticking up like he had a very good time.

“Walk of shame,” Charles says, grinning at the man who has been pounding him all night.

“Only if there was something to be ashamed of,” Erik responds seriously, “I see nothing here I'm ashamed of. I had a really good time Charles. Are you sure…”

“Rule number four,” Charles says, putting up a hand to stop the conversation. Erik smiles and leans in, placing a soft kiss on Charles’ lips.

“We’ll see about that.”

The next time Charles hits the bar he sees a familiar figure leaning against the far end of it. Charles grins and goes to lean next to him.

“Erik!” Charles says and Erik startles a little, his face surprised, then he fumbles around in the pockets of his jacket and pulls out the cheesiest pair of pimptastic sunglasses ever created and slides them on.

“No,” Erik says, “I am Giorgio. You have mistaken me for Erik.”

Charles raises an eyebrow.

“Giorgio?” Charles says, “You look an awful lot like a guy I took home last week named Erik. And is THAT your version of an Italian accent? Is this some sort of Italian-American stereotype?”

“Giorgio Moroder,” Erik says, putting out his hand. Charles looks at Erik’s hand then back at his face that is hiding behind the sunglasses.

“Um, I know how Giorgio Moroder is, you jack ass. You’re not him.”

“You have a delicious ass,” Erik says, still using that atrocious accent. “I’d like to take it home. I’d like to lick it.”

Oh god. That went straight to his groin.

“Rule four.” Charles managed to squeak out and he can’t help but laugh at Erik and his ridiculousness. His cock gets even harder as he remembers how hot and wet Erik’s mouth had been on his when he kissed, and he’d kind of like to kiss him again. And a few more times after that.

“I do not know of this rule four,” Eriks says, his lips twitching, almost breaking into a grin. “But maybe you would like to show me. Perhaps you have it posted on your fridge.”

“Fine,” Charles says, sighing, “Giorgio. Would you like to come to my place?”

“Sì” says Giorgio.

When they get back to Charles’ apartment, Erik looks at the couch which is still adorned with Raven’s Hello Kitty pillow, then he kisses Charles and before long Charles is bent over the arm of the couch, staring at that damn pillow while Erik thrusts into him, all concerns about messing the leather entirely forgotten. When they are done and Erik is zipping up his pants, he turns to Charles, his eyes bright.

“So, do you go to the bar every Friday?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. Maybe you’ll meet someone else there.”

There was no way Charles was going to miss a Friday night at the bar after that.

A week later Charles is back to leaning on the bar, nursing a gin and tonic and fighting back the feeling of keen disappointment. Erik is nowhere in sight, and Charles thinks to himself that he is such a desperate fool, and that when he gets home he is going to underline rule four in thick black marker and swear he will never violate it again.

A woman comes to lean next to him and Charles barely glances her way, and he wishes she were Erik. He is lost in thought, trying to decide if he will find someone else to take home or if he will call it a night and go home to finish up the latest season of Game of Thrones. Each holds its dangers. If he finds someone else to pick up he will have go through the trouble identifying someone who looks like a decent fuck, and after Erik and his magnificent cock, Charles is feeling that no one will match up. If he goes home and watches Game of Thrones it’s possible that the entire cast will be slaughtered and he’s not sure he will survive that either. Charles drains the remainder of his drink and turns, setting it on the bar when he hears Erik’s voice saying his name. Charles stills and tries to ignore the thrill that courses through him. He turns his head.

The woman next to him. It’s Erik. Erik in drag. Erik in a red wig and a blue dress, staring at him, smiling. Grinning. Oh god, Charles is shaking in his effort not to laugh.

“Erik!” Charles says, entirely unable to contain his amusement and a smile breaks across his face.

“Erika,” Erik says seriously. “Do you come here often?”

“You look TERRIBLE in drag.”

“You know, if you want to take me home and let me fuck you, you might want to try not insulting my appearance.” Erik says dryly.

Charles swallows. He does indeed want to take Erik home. More than he had realized.

“Did you actually put on lipstick?” Charles says, peering at Erik in the dim light and his mouth looks redder and fuller than usual.

“I wanted to complete the illusion.”

“There is no illusion here, Erik. You look like Erik in a wig and a dress. You should have at least shaved a little closer.”

“Last week you said you like a bit of stubble.”

Charles blushes, remembering how Erik’s face was a little rough against his thighs. Yes, he had said that.

“Good god, you’re hot. Want to ruin that lipstick by blowing me in the bathroom?” Charles asks with a wicked smile. “Then I’ll take you home and you can fuck me over the kitchen table.”

Erik rolls his eyes and licks those lips at the same time.

“Really Charles, the table again? Is that some sort of fantasy of yours. Have you ever done it? Terribly uncomfortable.”

Charles is starting to get terribly uncomfortably hard as he stares at Erik.

“Bathroom, Erika. My cock needs that mouth on it now.”

“Okay.”

Charles will never EVER miss a Friday after that.

Six Fridays later, not that Charles is counting time by Fridays now, but six Fridays later, Raven is standing at the kitchen counter staring intently at the toaster, willing it to pop.

“He’s stealth dating you, Charles.” She says, frowning at the toaster because it’s not fast enough.

“He is not.” Charles says, pouring coffee into a mug, savoring the smell. It’s Saturday morning and Raven is just rolling in from staying the night at Irene’s.

“He took you out for dinner, Charles. How is that not dating?”

“He bought me nachos last Friday before he fucked my brains out. I hardly call that dinner.”

“Charles! He’s come home with your every Friday night for way over a month.”

“Well, technically ERIK hasn’t come home with me.”

“Yes, I know the little game you two are playing. The one that caused the bartender to compliment you last week on how cute you and your husband are about keeping the spark in your marriage alive by coming to the bar every Friday and role playing picking each other up.”

Charles has nothing to say to that one. It was the same night as the nachos that he’d justified by telling himself that he’d need food if Erik was going to fuck him all night. He grabs another mug and pours coffee into it.

“And Charles,” Raven says, looking at him through narrowed eyes. “I know he’s in the bedroom.”

“He is not..” Charles sputters in mock indignation, “I mean, he IS, but really Raven, you’re nosey and it’s none of your business, and HOW did you KNOW?”

Raven smiles and nods at the two mugs of coffee sitting on the counter.

“Really, Charles? Two mugs. Smooth brother.”

“Maybe one is for you.”

“You know I don’t drink coffee. I suspect Erik, or whatever he’s calling himself today so you can keep your precious rule on the fridge intact, does. Plus you two aren’t exactly quiet and clearly had an encore to last night's romp this morning that I was then subjected to while I grabbed clothes out of my dresser.”

Charles blushes.

“And,” she continues, “don’t think I didn’t notice that his toothbrush is in our medicine cabinet. He wrote his fucking name on it, you idiot.”

Charles moves from blushing to utterly mortified. Raven is right, but Raven is rarely wrong when it comes to her assessment of his life. He just doesn’t always want to listen to what she has to say.

The toaster pops and and Raven grabs the butter, digs into it with a knife and slathers it all over the piece of toast she’s been eagerly awaiting. She then turns to Charles, her mouth full and tells him that she’s going back to Irene’s. She’ll be there all day. He and Erik can have the whole place. Just don’t fucking mess up her Hello Kitty pillow.

When Raven has left, the door of the apartment slamming behind her, Charles stands in the kitchen and stares at the yellow piece of paper on the fridge.

One. _Don’t drink the milk out of the carton._ That one is solid. Seriously, it’s a disgusting habit.

Two. _Pick your fucking clothes up off the bathroom floor._ Charles thinks that he could probably put a hamper in the bathroom to curb the habit Raven has of coming home after a long night and dropping her sweat-soaked dress she wore to the club on the floor. No matter how many times he asks her to take them to the hamper in the laundry room, she just moans and tells him she really is too tired to bother, which is Raven code for too drunk.

Three. _Do not borrow my clothes_ (aka if you ever borrow my cardigan again in order to dress up like ME for Halloween, I will fucking kill you.) Maybe Charles can even the odds by stealing one of Raven’s dresses, pulling it on and letting Erik hike it up and fuck him in it. Payback is hell, dear sister.

Four. _Don’t fuck the same guy twice.*_

Charles stares at the last rule. He knows why it’s there. He hates getting hurt and it’s happened more than one time, so if he sticks to sex and doesn’t do more than that, he can protect his heart, and it seems that Charles has a ridiculously tender heart. He sighs. Maybe it’s okay to put his heart out there. Maybe the idea is not that he should never get hurt, but that one has to go through people who don’t work in order to find the one that does. Erik is lovely and sweet and hotter than hell, and maybe it’s worth the risk to see if he’ll be the one that finally clicks.

Charles goes to the drawer they keep all their odds and ends in and roots around until he finds a black sharpie marker. He returns to the fridge and stares at the yellow paper for just a bit longer. Then he takes the pen and draws a line.

_~~Don’t fuck the same guy twice.*~~ _

“Charles.”

Erik’s voice comes from the doorway of the kitchen and Charles turns to find that he’s wearing a ratty t-shirt and sweat pants, and good god, did the man bring an overnight bag this time and Charles entirely missed that detail, because he was wearing slacks and a turtleneck last night. Charles distinctly remembers pulling them off as Erik was spouting some bullshit about being an art dealer from Switzerland, refusing to stop using yet another ridiculous accent until Charles latched his mouth onto one of Erik’s nipples and sucked hard enough to make Erik yell his name. Now he’s wearing sweatpants, his hair is rumpled and he’s looking at Charles with what can only be described as bedroom eyes. Charles legs feel weak and he backs up to lean on the counter just in case they give out from under him.

Raven is right. They are dating.

Erik’s eyes go to the pen that Charles is still gripping in his fingers then he glances at the paper on the fridge, then to Charles face.

“Rule four?” Erik asks, a small smile forming on the edges of mouth.

“Gone,” Charles says. “It was a ridiculous rule anyway. I mean, I wrote it when I was entirely stoned and weepy, and it was completely unsustainable anyways, and clearly it’s been violated about one hundred times at this point….”

“Good,” Eriks says, crossing the kitchen to stand directly in front of Charles, and the look on his face makes Charles go even weaker in the knees. Erik bends his head down and places a soft kiss on Charles’ lips. “I was running out of accents, anyway, and those fake mustaches really itch.”

~fin~


End file.
